


Lunar Obsession

by LauraHill



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Death Eaters, F/M, Minor Character Death, Quills & Parchment Oneshot Competition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-10-07 09:00:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10356852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LauraHill/pseuds/LauraHill
Summary: Hermione meets a lone wolf in the forbidden forest. The lone wolf develops a fascination with the girl.





	

**Author's Note:**

> All canon character, plots, and situations from the Harry Potter series belong to JK Rowling. I am not profiting from this work.
> 
> Thank you to my beta goodevibrations and mentor for their time and work on this story.

The forbidden forest was dark and deadly silent, the only sound being the crunch of twigs under her boots and her own labored breathing. Hermione once again cursed herself for promising Hagrid that they would look after Grawp. Of course, when she said "they" she really meant "her", because things like this always fell on her shoulders.

She let her gaze wander nervously around the dark trees. Even though she could not hear anything besides the sounds she caused, she was sure she was being watched. Something seemed to be lurking there, in the darkness. She clutched her wand a bit harder. Going into the forbidden forest on her own was phenomenally stupid, but Harry had problems of his own, and Ron… well, he was Ron, so she took a reassuring deep breath and walked on.

She was sure it could not be that much farther. When Hagrid had shown them where Grawp was it seemed like a relatively short walk, but Hermione realised that a giant couldn’t be hidden right next to the school.

Suddenly, Hermione held herself absolutely still. She was sure that she heard a twig snap beneath a weight that wasn’t her own. _“Lumos,”_ she whispered, having previously assumed that if she could not see anything, surely nothing would see her either. Now, with being sure something was lurking far too close to her for comfort, she changed her opinion.

“Hello? Is there anybody?” She asked quietly, not daring to yell.

The witch waited a couple of seconds, and just when she was sure she had simply become paranoid, she heard a very soft whine. She stilled immediately.

There was something out there.

She crept forward, her glowing wand held high in front of her, every muscle taut. The sound seemed to have come from behind a thorny bush, and she was sure she could here soft shuffling.

Hermione walked around it and stopped.

Her wand illuminated a form that was huddled beneath the bush and apparently trying not to move. The twigs seemed to have snapped when the beast tried to crawl further into the bush. Unsure what creature it was, she took a tentative step closer. She saw lots of dark brown fur, but the creature was so rolled up into itself, that she could not make out any other features.

If Hagrid had still been at Hogwarts, Hermione knew exactly what she would have done now. But with him gone… She took a deep breath and stepped closer.

The brown bundle of fur started to growl and whine, two disturbingly light brown eyes fixated on Hermione.

“I won’t hurt you, I swear!” She took another step, but when the growling seemed to grow even louder she halted.

“ _Petrificus Totalus_ ,” she whispered, pointing her wand at the bundle of fur. Instantly it stilled, the growling stopped, but those unnaturally light eyes still stared at her.

Confident that the animal could not move she stepped closer and waved her wand to throw a diagnostic charm over it. When she got the result she drew in a breath. The poor thing had several wounds on his side, and had apparently lost so much blood that it was completely powerless.

Hermione kneeled next to the hurt animal and realised how large it actually was. Even curled in on itself it could not be mistaken for a straying dog. She pointed her wand at the furry mess and slowly levitated it a couple of inches out of the bush, so that she could look at it without scratching herself.

“I just want to help you, I won’t do you harm,” she whispered soothingly. She could sense how nervous the animal was, and was sure that if it could, it would still growl at her or even try to bite her.

She stood up and moved around the animal, it had curled up into itself with its wounds barely accessible. Hermione was not suicidal though, she would not lift the charm that kept her out of harm’s way.

Positioning herself so she could at least somewhat access its wounds, she cast several _Episkey’s_ on them. She couldn’t be sure with all the fur, but she was confident in her spellcasting, and it would definitely keep the wolf – at least that was what she assumed it was – from bleeding out and it would speed up the healing process. Satisfied with her work she straightened up and realised that she was still being watched. Its eyes were a beautiful caramel colour but they were unnerving for Hermione.

She threw another diagnostic charm over the wolf and was satisfied that her work had done some good. She walked around him and realised, where the wounds had come from. In the bush, there were several arrows lying about, ripped to shreds, some of them completely splintered.

As far as Hermione knew, the Centaurs were the only beings in the forest – with Hagrid being gone – who used bows and arrows. But the Centaurs didn’t hunt wild animals in the forest. They were completely vegetarian and tried to leave the other beings alone just as much as they desired seclusion.

She slowly walked back to the still frozen wolf. “What did you do to them?” she murmured.

Looking up into the sky she saw the darkness of the forest had swallowed all the lights that the stars and moon would have provided for her on her way to Hagrid’s half-brother. Rubbing a hand across her face she sighed. She would have to go another time, she did not want to imagine what other creatures were lurking about and she most certainly did not want the Centaurs to think in the darkness of night she was some kind of animal.

Hermione met his gaze one last time and put a hesitant hand out to place it between his ears, stroking him slowly. He shivered under her touch so she looked around, debating something. She waved her wand again and placed a warming charm on the wolf’s body and put a ward around him that would – if he did not move – last the night.

“I will leave you in peace now. When I am far enough off, you will be able to move again.”

She patted his head one more time, then spun around and started marching off in the direction of the castle.

* * *

When the moon had faded in the sky and the sun had come up, Fenrir Greyback slowly pulled himself into a sitting position. He rubbed his head, then his hands rubbed across the flesh that had been ripped to shreds by the Centaur’s arrows.

He was not sure who the girl was, but she had put him back together and even protected his weakened form from further attacks.

She didn’t know it yet, but he owed her a debt.

* * *

Hermione ran. They should have known there was a taboo, Harry should have known, they should have been better protected.

But the ramblings in her head did not help her situation. She was running as fast as her legs would carry her, jumping over fallen trees and feeling as though the air burned her lungs.

When Harry stumbled, she knew they would not get out of this. She threw a stinging hex in his face, hoping that it would buy them time.

And then they were there. Fenrir Greyback, a snatcher named Scabior, and several equally as filthy snatchers. Blood was pumping through her ears, she only snapped out of it when Greyback was directly in front of her and asked “Who are you, girly?” (DH, Ch. 23)

“Penelope Clearwater” she murmured, her eyes widening in fear and everything feeling numb.

Fenrir leaned closer to her and took a deep _sniff_ of her scent. Fear gripped her and she felt ready to pass out.

Ron and Harry tried to talk their way out of the situation, but it was no use. Greyback stayed close to Hermione, keeping an eye on her. Then they raided their tents, while Harry, Ron and Hermione were bound on the floor, sitting next to Dean. They found the newspaper, with Hermione’s picture on it.

She closed her eyes. This was it. They were going to die.

Greyback crouched down in front of Harry and Hermione. His presence was frightening in itself, but it certainly didn’t help that he smelled like blood and dirt.

Hermione watched him through barely opened eyes, she could see countless scars littering his face and strangely coloured eyes which were fixated on her. His hand reached for her shoulder, his long yellow nails digging painfully into her flesh. She wished she would have listened to what was going on around her, but she was so terrified that all she could was just stare at Greyback and wish that he was splinched when she felt the pull of Apparation.

Unfortunately, her wish was not granted, and they were pushed along a stony pathway into Malfoy Manor. As if there situation was not bad enough already, Narcissa, Draco, and Lucius Malfoy weren’t alone; Bellatrix Lestrange was in the Manor as well.

The situation was already looking quite grim but went even more pear shaped when Bellatrix saw one of the Snatcher’s handling the Sword of Gryffindor. She stunned the snatcher and made fast work of the others as well, they fell to the ground, unconscious. All but Greyback.

Bellatrix had forced him into a kneeling position his arms were stretched far from his body, his face was feral. The mad witch was asking the werewolf where they had gotten the sword from, clutching his wand in her free hand. He was not inclined to answer though, absolutely furious and with his eyes screaming murder.

“Release me!” He roared. Bellatrix ignored him. He bared his teeth at her, growling low in his throat.

“Get rid of them,” Bellatrix commanded Draco.

Hermione was not entirely sure what happened next, she was focusing on breathing and trying to find a way out.

Suddenly Ron’s screaming brought her back to reality and she realised what was happening. Bellatrix Lestrange wanted to play with her.

Greyback’s wand was handed back to him and he led Harry and Ron away.

Fenrir Greyback was not pleased. After all this time he had found the girl that had saved him in the forbidden forest and he had to bring her to Malfoy Manor of all places. She was his. She might not know it, but she was. Her scent was… intoxicating.

A low growl rumbled in his chest.

And now that bitch humiliated him, degraded him and would do Merlin knows what to the girl. He owed her a debt. He could not just stand by, but he had to. That crazy bitch would just kill him if he tried to step in. He was not nearly important enough for her to care about his death.

He had to watch as Bellatrix carved the word Mudblood into the girls arm. The girl’s screams were agonising.

After what felt like forever, the girl had turned still, her eyes were open but staring into nothingness. Apparently Bellatrix had enough of her as well.

“And I think,” said Bellatrix’s voice, “we can dispose of the Mudblood. Greyback, take her if you want her.” (DH, Ch. 23)

Fenrir took a step into their direction, his grin feral. He would get her far, far away from them. And then she’d be his.

But of course, fate was not so kind. The Weasley boy ran into the room, yelling “No!” and making a spectacle of himself. Bellatrix had turned her attention on the boy now and Fenrir wanted to get the girl. He bared his teeth and growled again.

Knowing that he had to keep appearances – and that his health would benefit if they did not get away – he fired curses at Weasley and when he noticed Potter he tried disarming him.

Then a screeched “Stop or she dies!” managed to freeze the occupants of the room. Lestrange held a knife to the throat of the girl. She did not struggle, or even move at all. Fenrir was quite sure that she was unconscious.

When Bellatrix continued her threats, the boys dropped their wands. Before anybody knew what happened, the fucking ugly glass chandelier that had been innocently hanging directly above Bellatrix and the girl came crashing down. While Bellatrix managed to jump out of the way, the girl was unconscious and was buried beneath the chandelier. The glass was flying through the rooms, the occupants who were not quick enough to shield their faces ended up with several cuts.

So did Fenrir, not because he was too slow, but because he looked at the mass of glass and blood and hoped that the girl would move. She did not smell dead yet, but they never did until a few hours had passed. He bared his teeth again.

Unfortunately he was so preoccupied with the girl, he had not noticed Potter picking the wands up that had been put on the ground when Bellatrix threatened the girl. Nor did he notice that they were pointed at him until he heard the yelled “ _Stupefy_!”. He lost the ground beneath his feet and was smashed so hard against a wall that he felt and actually heard his ribs crack. The air was pushed from his lungs and he fell to the ground hard, gasping for air.

When the air filled his lungs again he tried to pull himself up, but the sharp pain in his upper body made him wince. He heard a house elves voice, heard yelling and then an audible crack of disapparation.

Then, horrifying and heavy silence.

The girl, Potter, even the fucking house elf – they were all gone.

The following evening was one of the worst in his life. The Dark Lord was not just displeased, he was furious. They – Fenrir, the Malfoys and Bellatrix – were heavily punished.

Eventually he was allowed to leave. He dragged his hurting body through the manor, willing himself to get as far away from them as possible.

It took him forever to leave the gates. By the time he fell down behind an old tree his body was shaking, he was gasping for air and his long yellow nails had left bloody marks in his palm.

Nothing went as planned, the girl was gone and he was in no condition to go looking for her. He would not be in the condition to do anything anytime soon.

* * *

It was not until the Battle of Hogwarts that he saw her again.

She was formidable. She was not as terrified as she had been in the forest. Her face was determined while she threw shields and curses, barely pausing. He could clearly see – even from a distance – that she was severely malnourished, but she already had been in the Forest of Dean.

His gaze continued to rest upon her from a distance.

After the Dark Lord had almost killed him when Potter, the girl and that Weasley boy fled, he was not really inclined to help any of them. If the Order won, he would go back into hiding with the pack. It is what he had done before, and life definitely used to be simpler for them somewhere deep in to forest, far from preying eyes. But if the Dark Lord won, well, maybe he could reap the benefits and then leave as well.

So now he was standing in the outskirts of the forbidden forest. Letting the others do what they wanted to, while watching his prize.

Since that night in the forest, where she had unknowingly saved him, he had been obsessed with her. Almost having her at the manor didn’t help his sanity any.

Until that day he had not even been aware of her name. How much easier life would have been if she had been some no-name-halfblood no one would miss if she disappeared. But she was no no-name-halfblood, she was Hermione fucking Granger, mudblood extraordinaire, the Order would go berserk if she were to disappear. So instead of trying to track her again after the evening in Malfoy Manor as he had wanted to, he had waited. He knew his chance would come, sooner or later.

Sometimes he lost her in the crowd. Potter and Weasley, sometimes separately, sometimes both, were always attached to her side. So he bid his time. There would be a moment when she was alone, and no one would see her.

As the evening progressed, she disappeared into the castle. Fenrir thought that maybe it was time to help his associates – if he did not show all evening he would be regretting it.

His large bulky frame was easily enough hidden in the shadows. He wore no shoes so as not to be heard on the stone floor. His wand was tucked away in his robes. He was fond of magic, but he preferred the chase the old fashioned way, as did his wolf.

So he waited. He heard the clicking of shoes on the stones, coming in his direction. A smile grazed his lips, his pointy teeth could be made out in the darkness.

Hectic breathing could now also be heard. Fenrir waited, then when a small figure ran passed he snatched the person by its arm, pulling it into the shadows with him. One hand was pressed over its mouth so fast that the figure could not even scream, the other held the figure by its throat, applying pressure.

It was a female, with blonde curly hair, and eyes that were widened in fear.

His grin widened, gaining something feral. She tried to scream against his hand, but it was no use. A couple of seconds later, her body fell to the ground.

Fenrir continued to make his way over the grounds, not sparing the young girl a second thought. This kill had been cleaner than they usually were, he tried not to leave too many trails. There was still another girl he had to find, and it wouldn’t do to warn any of them of his presence.

Hours ticked by. He made his way over the grounds, littering the dark alcoves with bodies. Then he saw her, again from a distance. She was making her way over to the shrieking shack, her two friends closely behind.

This was the chance he had been waiting for. He followed them, keeping a distance. Then, after a while, Potter and Weasley came back. The girl was apparently still in the shack.

He smiled, his long yellow teeth making him look feral. Tonight was the night. He would have her. All of her. And then she would be his. Or she would die.

He followed her scent through a dark and damp tunnel until he reached the shack. Inside he could hear sobs. It was the girl.

He carefully looked inside the room. She was sitting in a puddle of dark red blood, a black clad body lying against the wall. The scent of death was not yet coming from it, but Fenrir recognised the signs. Snape was dead.

“I’m so sorry. I am so, so sorry,” was all that the girl kept muttering between sobs. Her hands were pressed to her face, she would not see him coming.

Fenrir knew what to do. He would approach her in his other form. Changing outside of the moon’s cycle was not something that many were capable of. Only those who fully embraced their wolf and were truly one with them were able to. And even so, it took a lot of strength.

He leaned over, feeling magic running through his veins. Wizards looked down on werewolves, thinking there were less, but in Fenrir’s opinion, they were so much more. He felt the raw magic pulsing, vibrating in every inch of his body. Then the change began. Bones started shifting, not painfully but almost naturally, and soft brown fur began to cover his dirty skin. His clothes were ripping at the seams when his ribcage expanded and deformed, pieces of cloth fell to the ground in shreds. He was on all fours now, his senses feeling sharper than they had been, all of them concentrated on the girl on the other side of the tunnel entrance.

For the girl it would simply look as though a quite large wolf with very intelligent, caramel-coloured eyes was standing in the tunnel.

But Hermione had not noticed a thing, she was grieving for her Professor. She had tried to help him, to stop the blood flow, but she ultimately could not save him.

She tried to slow her breaths. She needed to go back to Harry and Ron, they were waiting for her in the castle. Her hands were shaking while wiping tears from her cheeks.

She gave herself another couple of minutes. It would not do to die while trying to find her friends because she was distracted.

When her breaths were even and her eyes had tried she slowly stood up. A quick _scourgify_ fixed the blood that was all over her. Her gaze wandered over to Professor Snape for the last time. His eyes were open, unseeing and painfully empty.

Hermione walked over to the tunnel, straightened and then climbed down. Two steps into the damp tunnel she realised that she was not alone. Her eyes were not yet used to the dim light, but she could hear another creature breathing.

Something furry touched her hand and she let out a scream. She looked down and saw a big, brown wolf sitting next to her.

“ _Lumos_ ,” she whispered.

The creature had turned its head to the side, its tongue lolling out of its mouth. When she noticed its intelligent caramel coloured eyes she remembered seeing a wolf like him before, back in fifth year before life went downhill.

“I know you, don’t I?” She questioned and slowly kneeled down to be eye to eye with the wolf. When she put her hand out, he immediately moved forward and pushed his head into her palm as if to confirm her suspicion.

A tiny smile pulled at her lip and she began to pet the wolf’s head. All too soon she realised she needed to get going.

“I’m sorry, but I need to find my friends,” she whispered and run her hand along his head. Then she stood up, turned and walked back in the direction of the castle.

When she was at the end of the tunnel she turned, thinking she would still find the wolf sitting in the distance. Instead he had followed her, not making a noise, and was standing right behind her.

Shrugging, she walked on. If he wanted to follow her, who was she to stop him?

The walk from the shrieking shack back to Hogwarts had never seemed as long to Hermione as in this night. She was afraid of someone attacking her, loose Death Eaters, and finding the dead bodies of her friends.

When she had finally managed to reach the castle, she could hear a yell and a growl behind her. She spun around and stopped in her tracks.

Antonin Dolohov had almost managed to surprise and attack her from behind. She would not even have noticed him until it was too late. But the wolf that had been following her had evidently noticed, he was hanging from Dolohov’s neck now, while blood was splattering everywhere. When Dolohov had stopped moving the wolf let go and growled at the body.

Hermione took a step back, eyeing the wolf with large eyes.

Then the wolf turned in her direction again, and she ran. In that moment she would not have been able to explain what made her so afraid of him. Looking on the situation later she was sure that she had felt in that very moment that he was not just an animal.

This time the wolf did not follow her.

* * *

The battle was over, the dust settled. And Hermione Granger was back outside where the wolf had mauled Dolohov and saved her life.

The corpse was still lying there, next to a fallen stone pillar.

She sat down a couple of meters from it, staring at it.

Where had the wolf gone?

As if to answer her question, she could hear slow steps of paws. She slowly turned her head and saw the wolf coming over to her. Blood was coating its fur.

“Are you hurt? Or is this all his?” She questioned quietly while pointing at Dolohov.

The wolf made no indication of having understood her but stepped closer. When he pushed his head against her knee she instinctively petted his fur.

After several minutes without being disturbed the wolf looked her in the eyes. The behaviour was disconcerting enough for an animal, but suddenly Hermione remembered where she had seen such a piercing pair of eyes before.

Her eyes widened and she jumped up. She did not dare to look away, but took step backwards, away from the wolf.

Fenrir Greyback thought that he might as well let the werewolf out of the figurative bag. He transformed back into his human form, now standing naked before her.

To give her credit, she did not scream. Nor did she attempt to run away. She just stared and he wondered whether she could deal with all the chaos from that night.

He took a step closer to her, hoping she would stay still. She did. Another step. He slowly moved his hand in her direction, his bloodied palm offered to her like an invitation.

She did not move. Nor could she pull her eyes away from him, shocked into silence.

When his yellow nails were just an inch from her forearm, yelling and footsteps could be heard.

“Hermione? Hermione, where are you?” Ron’s voice. Greyback bared his teeth, but when he saw Hermione flinch away from him, clearly frightened for her friend, he stopped. Without a word he turned from her, and disappeared behind a corner just when Ron came into view.

“‘Mione, what happened? We were worried some remaining Death Eater might have gotten y-” he stilled when he saw Dolohov’s mauled body.

“Bloody hell. Come on, we’ll tell the aurors,” with that he simply dragged the still shocked Hermione away. She did not even try to tell him what had happened.

Nor did she tell any of the aurors. Greyback had saved her, after all. She would not admit that she had seen him anywhere.

She would just act as if the whole disaster had never happened.

* * *

Days passed and turned into weeks. Rogue Death Eaters had been captured, but not all of them. Some were still on the loose. Most prominently, Fenrir Greyback had not been spotted after the battle at all.

The public was worried, but Hermione was almost relieved. When she had rented a small house at the edge of a forest close to the Weasley’s Burrow in Devon, she had found a wand in her postbox after a few days.

She did not need to ask whose wand it was.

When the next full moon stood bright in the sky Hermione sat on a chair in her kitchen, the window facing the forest. She could not see anything.

Fenrir could see her, though. He sat in his wolf form hidden in a thick bush. He could clearly see her. She looked better than during the battle. A bit pale maybe.

He had wanted to kill her weeks ago. For years all he could think about was making her his, and if she was not willing , he would still have had her. Then at the battle, when Dolohov had almost gotten to her, a rage had pierced his heart. It could not be allowed. So he killed his fellow Death Eater, ripping his throat out.

Then afterwards, she had first run - and he had let her, he would have gotten another opportunity - and then came back after the fighting was over. When she realised who he was, and he could make out the exact moment in her eyes, he had changed, confirming her suspicion. He wanted to get close to her, but again did not get the opportunity.

He could have easily killed her and the red-headed dunderhead, but the urge to hurt her had vanished. So instead, he had gone on his way. He had changed back into his wolf form, knowing he would be hunted, now that the Dark Lord was gone, so he could not use his wand anymore. He had crawled back into the tunnel and grabbed his wand that lay where he had changed.

He did continue to follow her though. When she got a small house he deposited his wand in her postbox, knowing that he would not be able to use it in the near future. He spent most of his time in the woods near her new home.

His old pack was gone, most of them were apparently killed in the battle, so he did not have much else to do.

During every full moon though, he would watch her, while she sat in her kitchen, looking out of the window, knowing he was there.

It took almost six months for him to leave the thick bushes and let himself be seen by her. Even then, he just sat close to the first trees of the forest and did not move. When she had seen him, she was startled, but made no move to call for anyone. She just watched him.

Months flew by, Fenrir did not change back unless he absolutely had to. He was one with his inner wolf, and more grateful for it than ever.

Gradually, he came closer to her house during the full moons. She did not seem to mind.

Three years after the battle someone tried to break into her house and curse her. Fenrir thought he recognised the man, that was when he became alarmed. When the man tried to break down her door, he intervened. He ripped the assailant to pieces, they could not even identify him afterwards.

During the next full moon Hermione was outside for the first time.

They just sat across from each other on the grass, staring at each other. At some point she went to bed and he stayed to watch out for her.

It took another year for him to dare to sit next to her. The first time, she did not move. The second time, she was about to leave him and go to bed before she thought better of it and put her hand carefully onto his head. Just once, then she left.

He did not show the next full moon, and she was sure she had overstepped an unspoken line. Meanwhile he hid in the bushes where he used to hide, blood coating his fur. A muggle huntsman had spotted him and thought him fair game. It was Fenrir’s first encounter with a gun.

When the pain became worse during the next day and he was sure he would not be around much longer he made his way to her backdoor, scratching it pathetically.

She was not home and he passed out.

* * *

When he awoke next, everything felt warm. He was comfortable. It was not a feeling he was accustomed to anymore.

When he lifted his head and slowly peeled his eyes open he realised that he was in a house. Going by the smell, it was hers. He also realised when looking around that he was lying on her couch. In his human form.

“I fixed you up as much as I could, but I needed to check that you were not further injured, so I had to force your change. I am sorry.” Her voice was faint.

He did not say anything, just turned his head so he could look at her. She had matured, the young girl who had saved him once was barely recognisable.

“Thank you,” he rasped. He had not used his voice in a long time.

“You are welcome,” she answered, her lips shifting into the smallest smile.

After that, he simply stayed. She never asked him to leave, he never made an indication that he would. She never had visitors over, he never went further than into the forest behind her home. They did not talk much, both preferring quiet companionship.

Sometimes he thought back to the time when he had wanted to rip her to pieces and sometimes she thought back to the time when she was about to alert the aurors and see him rotting in Azkaban. They never spoke about it.

It took another year of him living in her home for him to kiss her. He was not a gentle man, never had been and never would be. So when she threw a fit about the ministry, some dunderheads that annoyed her when she was at work and her friend Ronald, who were making her day miserable, he thought he knew a solution to that.

In the middle of her monologue he grabbed her head between his massive hands and kissed her hard.

When he pulled away she stared at him, not moving. While he continued to move around the kitchen, she just stared at the wall, hands still up where she had placed them on his chest and eyes wide.

It took her a few moments to realise that this really had happened. Then she spun around, grabbed him by the neck and kissed him as well. He towered over her, pressed her to the wall, her fingers digging into his neck and his sharp teeth biting down on her lower lip.

In this simple moment, she did not care what he had done previously in his life. If she was honest, she had not cared about these things in a very long time. Neither did he care anymore. He had changed, he could not exactly explain when it had happened, but it had. He was not a good man, never had been, but if the price for being allowed close to this girl, his girl, was to behave as though he was, he would do whatever he could. On the other hand she had never been a bad person. But if being close to him would mean harboring a wanted war criminal, she would learn to be bad.

No one ever came to know though. They lived in her cottage, peacefully undisturbed. She went to work, he went hunting - just deer and rabbit, no humans of course - and they spent the evenings mostly in silence.

They were both content with their strange lives and would not change a thing.

So they lived happily until the wolf’s fur was grey and the girl’s face was covered in wrinkles.

  
One day they were found, the strange old lady that did not like visitors and her pet wolf, that had often been seen playing in the garden. She was lying on her living room floor and he was curled around her, both cold and stiff but ultimately peaceful.


End file.
